


La Petite Mort

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Birth, M/M, Mpreg, erotic birth, multiple pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," John muttered irritably. </p><p> </p><p>"La petite mort," Sherlock sighed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> More erotic birth! 
> 
> I'm working on writing things, really, and I have a bit of a stockpile made. Hopefully this will tide you all over for a bit. :) 
> 
> -Anna B.

Sherlock sighed and readjusted his position on the yoga ball. The last contraction had been the longest yet, but Sherlock highly doubted it was worth worrying about. They were still a little over twenty minutes apart, and though the twins were low in his belly, he knew there would be a long, long wait until it was time to push. There was no reason to text John and interrupt his day at work; he could manage at home for awhile yet. 

 

Or so he thought. 

 

It barely took another hour before Sherlock was nearly doubling over with the need to push. The first baby was so far down in his birth canal that he could hardly stand to move, and his pelvis ached with the pressure. "God, oh god," he moaned, leaning back on the mattress and trying to ease the pain in his spine, but to no avail. He needed John here, but his mobile…his mobile was in the other room, and he couldn't walk out to get it. Fuck. He'd have to do this on his own…

 

Sherlock's belly hung low and round, obscuring his view as he squatted in front of the mirror. His breasts were overfull and aching, and he massaged one in his hand as the other hand caressed his tight belly. The hand mirror was within arm's reach for when he needed it, but for now all he could do was wait for a contraction. 

 

It came quickly, and Sherlock tossed his head back and cried out as he bore down, his inner muscles tightening and forcing his baby out. "Fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, god," he repeated, thighs quivering with strain as he spread his legs wider and pushed as hard as he could. The pain was agonizing, his baby spreading him wide open and oh god oh god, he was crowning, oh _christ_

 

Sherlock grappled for the hand mirror and fumbled to get the right angle between his legs, and he could see himself spreading, his entrance bulging as his baby's head began to emerge and suddenly a new sensation swirled in his groin. Not one of pain, but one of growing pleasure. Was he…he was getting _hard_ from this, and almost against his will the hand massaging his breast dropped down beneath his heavy belly and wrapped around his growing prick. 

 

He started to stroke, and the flesh responded in his hand, growing harder and thicker even as his belly contracted again. Sherlock's head fell back against the mattress once more, and his hand worked almost autonomously as the rest of his body focussed on pushing. 

 

The sensation was dual, pleasure from his cock and pain from his belly and entrance as the baby descended. The closer he grew to crowning, the more he had to open his eyes to look down and check his progress in the mirror, and each glance down gave him more fuel for his furious stroking. 

 

At long last, the baby's head showed through, and Sherlock had to will his mind to concentrate on something other than the view of his skin stretched thin and almost transparent around the thick mass of his baby's head. He pinched the head of his cock to keep from coming, the desire to orgasm ebbing as his movements stilled. 

 

The head came free. 

 

Sherlock started fisting himself again, harder, his hips working abortedly in time with his thrusts as his body worked overtime to bring his baby free. He dropped the hand mirror, the clunk on the floor coinciding with an agonized groan of pain and pleasure as the baby's shoulders began to emerge. Sherlock gripped his baby as well as he could, the infant's slippery form difficult to hold onto but then the shoulders were coming and oh god, oh god it was so tight and his balls were drawing up, he was going to oh god he was going to

 

Sherlock's hand left his cock but it jerked of its own will, his body orgasming as one last push brought his baby out into his waiting hands. He picked the infant up and pulled it close to his chest as his prick pulsed strings of come onto the towel beneath his knees, and his breathing was heavy as the infant gave its first cries. "Hello," he gasped, clutching the baby close and clearing the afterbirth from its small scrunched face. Weak waves of pleasure spread out from his groin and made his thighs tremble, and he slid slowly to the floor, holding his baby close. "A son. God, John, you have a son." 

 

"I…I do," came a small voice from the corner of the bedroom. Sherlock turned as quickly as he could and saw the doctor standing there, coat half slung off his shoulders and a look of absolute bewilderment on his face. "I heard you making noise, and I thought maybe you were just in here masturbating from the sound of it, but…fuck, Sherlock, did you just come giving birth?" 

 

Sherlock could only smile and nod, and he could see the shudder passing through John's body. "I couldn't help it, John. I could see my body working, I could see myself spreading open to let him pass…" 

 

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me twice," John muttered, and Sherlock could hear the rustle of clothes as John undressed. His now mostly naked mate knelt down on the floor and looked at his firstborn son, his hand reaching out tentatively to touch the baby. "Better get the cord cut," he murmured, and kissed Sherlock gently on the temple before hopping back up to find his birth kit. 

 

Half an hour later, the boy was sleeping bundled up on the bed and Sherlock's contractions were starting up again, and the detective was moaning and rocking back and forth in front of the mirror. John had offered to set him up on the mattress - "A bit more comfortable than on your knees on the floor," but Sherlock had declined. The few glimpses he'd caught of himself in labour were nearly as erotic as the sight of a baby emerging from between his legs, and he'd be damned if he'd lose another opportunity to do that. 

 

John held the mirror this time, so Sherlock could use both hands to rub his belly and his overfull breasts. His prick was already stirring again, long before the baby started to crown, and Sherlock revelled in giving himself long strokes every few moments as he waited to start pushing again. 

 

Finally, the urge to push was upon him once again, and the hand on Sherlock's low fleshy belly moved to stroke his cock as he pushed. "Oh, coming _faster,_ John," he sighed, and bore down harder, stroking faster as the small body moved out of his own. 

 

This one was coming sideways already, Sherlock could feel, and he nearly shouted and came when the fucking _shoulder_ **rammed** against his prostate as it passed. "Jesus christ oh my god, too much too much," he moaned, and squirmed, but the motion only served to push the small body against the bundle of nerves even more. Sherlock's hand flew from his cock to press against his belly, his breathing heavy and laboured as he stopped pushing for a moment to recover. 

 

Beside him, John looked dazed, torn between being aroused and feeling horribly guilty for being aroused. Sherlock leaned his head against John's shoulder and John whispered small words in Sherlock's ear, trying to be comforting, but Sherlock shushed him. "Feels so good, John," he whispered, the hand on his belly pushing and rubbing circles. "Its shoulder is on my prostate, any time I move-" he squirmed again and grunted, his mouth falling open and eyes going shut - "it feels like I'm going to come. But I want to wait, because when its shoulders come out…fuck," he sighed, and John made another choked noise in the back of his throat when Sherlock started pushing again. 

 

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," he muttered irritably. 

 

" _La petite mort_ ," Sherlock sighed, and John gave into the desire and let his hand drift down to palm his own cock. 

 

The baby crowned and the noises Sherlock made should have been fucking illegal, John was going to come and he wasn't even touching himself. And then the shoulders came out and Sherlock slumped down, doubled over and he screamed as he came, his prick jerking in his hand and John bit down hard on his lip as he reached down to catch the baby, pulling it up and holding it to his own chest as Sherlock wheezed. "That was even better than the first time," he breathed. 

 

"Yeah, well, you prat, I wouldn't know," John said mock-angrily. "Didn't even bother to tell me you were in labour." He wrapped the new baby in a towel and handed it to Sherlock. "Congratulations, you've got a daughter." 

 

"I was only in labour for three hours before I had to push. I thought I had time," Sherlock sighed, and pulled the towel back a little to look at his daughter. "Hello there, little one. Nice to meet you, too." 

 

A few seconds of silence, and Sherlock looked up at John, grinning wickedly. "I suppose since you missed the first one, we'll have to go for triplets next time. Give you a chance to make it up." 

 

John sagged back on the mattress, a hand over his eyes. "You know having triplets, I'd still only get to see four out of five of the births, right? That's not a logical solution. I can't make up for missing one." 

 

Sherlock shrugged and smiled. "We can certainly try." 


End file.
